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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929947">It gets worse before it gets better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsBooksFriedchicken/pseuds/StarsBooksFriedchicken'>StarsBooksFriedchicken</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Fluff and Angst, He/Him and It/Its Pronouns for Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:09:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsBooksFriedchicken/pseuds/StarsBooksFriedchicken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a very self-indulgent fic I wrote that diverges from canon at episode 101, Helen doesn't kill Michael. There's some serious fluff going on but also tw for Michael having suicidal thoughts at one point. The eyepocalypse also happens but I promised a happy ending and you'll get one</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael | The Distortion/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi ok so for context Michael is here to "rescue" jon from the clown mannequins and tells him to open the door</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon wondered at which point he had gone from running from not!Sasha, begging for his life, to now calmly following Michael to the door that would apparently kill him. But whatever The Distortion had in store for him, he was sure it wouldn't be as bad as Nikolai peeling his skin off and using it for a ritual. He allowed himself one second to take a deep breath, and then turned the handle and stepped inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the most impossible corridor he had ever been in. It branched out in every single direction and yet it was a straight line, it twisted and spiralled yet it was all hard edges and sharp corners. Jon barely had time to register all of this before he felt Michael's sharp fingers on his shoulders.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Any ability for voluntary movement seemed to have left him as Michael backed him into a corner (or was it just solid wall?) All he could think about was the ritual and his failure in stopping it, and it was not until he felt soft hair on his face that he realised how close Michael was now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Archivist," it said, in a voice that sounded dangerously like a croon, "I seem to be feeling generous after all that venting about my life. Perhaps we can make a deal."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon didn't know what to say, and he found himself wishing for this to be over quickly. But maybe that would never be the case. Maybe he would just be trapped in this hellish psychedelic maze until he lost his last grip on sanity, wandering aimlessly through the corridors. The possibility of that happening made him feel worse than the prospect of actual death, so he mustured the last amount of patience he had and breathed out a single "Please."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael's hair made impossible movements as it cocked its head in surprise and grinned until its mouth was too large for its face. "My, my, Archivist. We haven't even discussed the terms yet."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon didn't think he had enough energy left in him to demand an explanation, so he simply chose to remain silent. The fact that Michael's hair was fascinating to watch up close was purely unrelated. It swam and cascaded in complex spirals that looked different every moment. When seconds passed and Jon didn't reply, the creature continued.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My offer is simple. I will lead you to a door that will take you into the archives, and I will make no move to stop you from going. I ask for only one thing in return."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon dimly registered that some part of him knew this was a trap, and yet, what other option did he really have? Besides, curiosity had always been his fatal flaw.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What do you want?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael's eyes seemed to shift colour as his grin became even wider, and he said, "A kiss."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon could not decide whether he should stare at Michael, dumbfounded, or simply attack it with all he had so his death would be swift. He settled for a hollow laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Archivist, I thought I was being clear! You kiss me, I let you out of this place so can continue your ill-fated heroic quest. Or would you prefer to fail?" It seemed to be enjoying itself immensely, and that only added to Jon's irritation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why?" Was all he could manage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Disgust and confusion are so closely related," began Michael thoughtfully, and Jon wondered where it was going with this. "I would really love to see how your mind tries to make sense of this. Confusion is, as you know, my area of expertise. But if you want a more straightforward answer, Archivist, I'm bored, and the idea of tormenting you is more exciting than killing you right now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometimes Jon hated his brain. Hated how he was already thinking about it and calculating if it really would let him go if he did what it asked. What an idiot. Of course it wouldn't. This was a trap, and to step into it would be more foolhardy than knocking on Mr. Spider's door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fine," He said, "I'll do it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He told himself this would be fine, but when Michael cupped his face and stepped even closer, he felt a terror overtake him. A terror that was not even related to Michael's fingers nearly piercing his cheek or its intense gaze. No, it was more to do with how badly he wanted this to happen. And that was always a sure sign that something was about to go very wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael's lips were inches from his when he breathed out a desperate "Stop." He shut his eyes, preparing for the worst, but nothing happened. When he opened them again, Michael was leaning on a door that he was sure hadn't been there before. The abrupt change from the suffocating closeness to the cold distance left him in a state of shock so bad that for a moment he caught himself wishing Michael would come back. Then Michael swung open the door, and the spell passed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Here's your exit, Archivist," It said, bowing with a flourish. "Now leave before I change my mind."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon wondered if what he saw on the other side of the door was really his office or another one of the Spiral's illusions. "That's it? You're just going to let me go?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael's expression was unreadable. "Think of it as more of a favour I will expect you to return some other time."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It did not allow him to try arguing, simply shoved him bodily out of the door. Before the door slammed and disappeared, however, Jon caught a glimpse of the creature's face that made him wonder if some part of it was still capable of feeling rejection. Then Tim was bursting into his office, saying something about hearing a noise, and he was being interrogated and fussed over by every one of his friends. Somewhere in the confusion he made out that he had been gone for two months. He didn't have the heart to tell them it felt like much, much longer. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Soft,,</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a short one but I like it:)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door was appearing more frequently in his office now. Sometimes he would look up after finishing a particularly exhausting statement, and for a split second be sure that there had just been a door in his field of vision. This became almost routine until one day, deep in the gory details of another Flesh statement, he felt something trickle against his scalp. </p><p> </p><p>He jumped, turned around and nearly screamed when he saw Michael bent over him, face scrunched in concentration as it ran its fingers through Jon's hair. </p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?" He choked out. </p><p> </p><p>"Is it not obvious?" Michael mused, not moving his focus. Jon was suddenly aware of how fragile his brain was inside his skull. The same skull that Michael was poking and caressing with its sharp, sharp fingers. He wondered if it had come back to collect its debt. </p><p> </p><p>"Pay me no mind," Michael said, twirling a lock of Jon's hair. "Continue with your riveting statement. I won't interrupt." </p><p> </p><p>Jon wanted badly to object. He knew he should. But for some reason he thought of his grandmother caressing his hair in one of her rare soft moments. Then he thought of Georgie taking it upon herself to braid his unruly hair in college, a practice he pretended to be annoyed by but secretly craved. And as Michael traced soothing spirals over his scalp, he found himself turning back to the statement. When he finished reading and the trance ended, he found himself alone, but now with a truly elaborate hairstyle worthy of a victorian ball. And then he simply slumped forward onto the desk and let exhaustion take him into the most peaceful sleep he had had in months. At least, he told himself it was exhaustion. It had to be. </p><p> </p><p>In the weeks of fervent preparation that followed, Jon barely had time to stop and think about something other than the Unknowing. And if he found a soft blanket draped on him after he dozed off at work or found a little trinket on his bedside table that he had no memory of buying, he dealt with it like he dealt with everything else: denial.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Date night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here's that fluff I promised. *slaps roof of Jon* this bad baby can fit so much "This Character Is Literally Me" in it &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon was reading in his bed when he felt the slight shift in his surroundings that he had come to understand to mean a door had appeared. And soon enough, Michael was striding into his room like it owned the place. Jon barely had time to react before it was towering over him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Archivist," It drawled, and Jon briefly realised it felt more like a nickname now than an attempt to reduce him to his position. Michael wasn't trying to define Jon by his occupation, he just had difficulty with names, and "Archivist" sounded more dramatic and to its style than a simple "Jon" anyway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I've come to ask for that favour." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In an instant, all fond thoughts left Jon's mind, and he set down his book. This was it, then. He found that he strangely had few regrets. After all, he had done what he intended. The Unknowing's ritual had been stopped and his friends were safe. If this was the price for that, he would gladly pay it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not realise something was wrong until Michael had settled in beside him, and up close he could see how tired it looked. Its face wasn't human enough to show the regular signs of fatigue, but there was something wrong with its eyes. They seemed dimmed and distant. If he didn't know better, he would say it was sad. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, with a gentleness Jon didn't think it was capable of, it caressed Jon's face and leaned closer. "May I kiss you, Archivist?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon didn't think before he blurted, "Do I have much of a choice?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once again, he saw that hint of emotion in Michael's eyes before it pulled back. "Of course you do. I will find some other way for you to repay me. Are you good at cooking?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael had a knack for jumping from one thought to the other without seemingly any connection, making Jon forget what it was saying before. And so before Jon could ask what it meant by cooking and hence derail the conversation, he reached out and kissed it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At first the creature was so deathly still Jon wondered of this had been the wrong course of action, but then its arms snaked around his waist and he let himself get lost in the dizzying comfort if the sensation. Time seemed to fluctuate and then give up entirely. When they finally pulled apart, Michael's eyes were still closed. The emotions displayed on its face hit jon like a freight train, and he could not bring himself to look away. Then Michael seemed to regain some sense of composure and say, "Thank you." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was this that left Jon more disoriented than anything else that had happened. As if it really thought Jon did not want this as much as it did. Jon let out a soft laugh, because it was clear now. This <i>was</i> what Michael wanted. To kiss him. The idea was so absurd that Jon gave up trying to make sense of it and pulled Michael in for another kiss. And another. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not know how it had happened, but he was lying on his back and Michael was unbuttoning his shirt with its slender fingers. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The same blind panic that had gripped him in the corridor returned in full force, and he gasped out a "Wait" and gripped Michael's hand. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Archivist," it whispered soothingly. "There is no cause for concern. I am not doing what you think I'm doing. Here. Look." It pushed his open shirt out of the way and put its head onto his chest, settling onto him with a weight that was unnaturally light for its appearance. Jon dimly registered the intoxicating softness of its hair against his bare skin, and then it was sighing and making low contented sounds that very forcefully reminded Jon of The Admiral. He reached up and ran a hand through the blond curls, marvelling at how good it felt. Michael seemed to return the sentiment, because it burrowed deeper into his chest and murmured, "Oh, that's nice. Keep going." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Jon did, twisting and braiding Michael's endless hair that occasionally earned him happy noises and soft encouragements. Rational thinking had abandoned him, and that was probably why he let himself say out loud the idea that was forming in his mind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you want to get some coffee?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael looked up. "What do you mean?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I know this really nice coffee shop a few blocks away, and it's open all night. We could go there. If you want." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe the look on Michael's face was unreadable, or maybe Jon simply didn't want to read it and deal with the repercussions of that knowledge. All he allowed himself to know was that Michael agreed, and then they were putting their coats on and walking out into the chilly night air. The winter chill. That was the only reason they clung to each other as they walked in silence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon had expected to sit opposite Michael at the booth, but it slid into the seat next to his and he couldn't bring himself to complain. There was a quiet moment of sipping their drinks before Michael said, "So. What do you do. For fun?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon stared at it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I... I was under the impression these were the questions one asked in this scenario?" It stammered, and Jon's chest filled with a stagerring wave of affection. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes, it is. Hmm. For fun, I guess I read statements? God, there's really not much I do these days, is there? I used to sing, you know. In college." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You do have a nice voice." Stated Michael, making Jon blush into his cup. To his horror, it kept going. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sometimes I just listen to you reading the statements. It's funny, the subject matter is often dark by human standards, but I find it strangely soothing." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon could not think of much else to say than a "Thank you", hastily cut off to prevent letting Michael know how badly he needed simple complements. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Talking became both easier and harder after that. Jon found himself being able to speak more freely, but everything he said led to Michael handing out sincere compliments that made him want to combust. Finally, their drinks were finished, and the were walking back to Jon's apartment. His hand brushed against the creature's, and on an impulse, he took it. Michael was taken aback but then adjusted so none of the sharp points pierced Jon's skin, and they were still holding hands when they collapsed into bed and Michael snuggled against him a second time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't usually sleep," it said, "but I could. Provided that you wake me up in the morning. I am not quite sure how that part works." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trust. That was what it was doing. Jon felt a twinge in his chest as he remembered what had happened the last time Michael had trusted someone. He pulled it close, almost protectively, and reassured it that he would wake it up. Then they were both asleep, cocooned in a nest of warmth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon woke up to a sharp pain at his side, and noted that at some point in the night Michael had dug its fingers into him. He lay there for a while, breathless in the fragility of this. Waking up next to someone was a luxury he had given up on. Then he remembered his promise and gently nudged Michael awake. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The smile that Michael gave him was enough to drown out the sunlight streaming through the windows. Then, all of a sudden, it sat up and looked around. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's morning," it said incredulously. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes, Michael, that's usually what happens when you go to sleep at night." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Michael didn't seem to hear him, only stared at him in wonder. Then it kissed him and hopped off the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, Archivist, it seems I have things I need to take care of." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Part of Jon was taken aback, wondering if he had done anything wrong. And then- he didn't mean to do it. The door in his mind was difficult to control at the best of times, and now, vulnerable and bewildered as he was, it led him straight to the answer he did not intend to seek. Michael's thoughts were a confusing mess of neverending spirals and fractals, but he manage to get just one bit of information out before Michael realized what he was doing, before <i>he</i> realized what he was doing, and the door slammed shut. Then they were both looking at each other with mirrored expressions of betrayal. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I did not consent to that, Archivist." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon began to apologise, then caught himself. Instead, he said what he had learned. "You came here with an agenda." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael's eyes narrowed. "And did you also extract what that agenda was from my mind?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon mentally hit himself. He had been so stupid. <i>Of course</i> it wanted something from him. Why had he ever convinced himself otherwise? And now Michael had the gall to look offended. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You shut yourself down before I could find out," he said, as coldly as he could. "But I saw enough. You came here because there was something you wanted from me. Something that isn't cuddles and coffee." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon wasn't stupid enough to think that was sadness on Michael's face now. That had never been the case. It began to say something, but Jon was done. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Get out. Get out of my house." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael did not protest. When Jon heard the slamming of the Spiral's door, he finally let go of the last bit of control he had and dropped his head in his hands.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Revelations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You've heard of projecting onto Jon, now get ready for: projecting onto Michael</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time in decades, Michael wanted to cry. </p><p> </p><p>He also wanted to storm back and explain everything to Jon, but neither of those were options he could consider, because he had more pressing things to do. Namely, to find Helen and let her know that her little plan had failed.</p><p> </p><p>Michael had been wandering the corridors the day before when he had sensed another presence in there with him. He wouldn't find out it was Helen until much later, when she was already halfway successful in killing him. But The Spiral did not deal in clean lines of succession, and killing him wouild not mean that Helen would just get to take his place. No, she would need to make him play her game, and if he lost, he died and The Spiral was hers.</p><p> </p><p>"You will die tonight," she had declared, standing over his weakened body. "I can't kill you, but I sure can make it happen. I am now more powerful than you could ever have been. And when you do, you will finally realise how it feels to be powerless at the hands of something bigger than you."</p><p> </p><p>Then she had left, and Michael had spent the rest of the day stitching himself back together to look presentable enough. Because he knew where he was going.</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere during the day, he had accepted it. Accepted that this really was the end. And amid everything, he felt a bit of relief. The statement he had given the Archivist in The Stranger's den had dredged up long-suppressed memories, and he was sick of it. He was unravelling, and at every turn of the corridor he was forcefully reminded of how he had blindly followed Gertrude through every step of her increasingly suspicious plan. Naive and trusting. He had convinced himself that the powers the Spiral gave him were enough to fill the lack of a Who in him, but now even that was going to be taken away, and he was tired.</p><p> </p><p>It was possible that the Archivist did not know the full extent of his powers as well as Michael did. Michael's job was to cause confusion in others, but he himself liked to be well informed. And he knew what a pupil of the eye could do to someone it turned its gaze on. And he had seen the abject terror and disgust on the man's face that time he had asked for a kiss. So he barged into the Archivist's flat and threw himself onto him, and this was a good way to go, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>Only the man did nothing he expected. He kissed him, and Michael would have been content to die just then, encased in the warmth of something he had so desperately wanted ever since he had swung into the institute to steal away Helen and found Him, eyes wide and hands clutching the tape recorder like it was a lifeline. In a way, Michael had died right that day. </p><p> </p><p>But the Archivist just kept going. He let Michael snuggle into his chest, whisked him away to have beverages and maddeningly pleasant conversation, and Michael had let himself feel something akin to hope. Not hope that he would survive, but hope that perhaps he could let himself enjoy this while it lasted.</p><p> </p><p>When he had drifted of to sleep, it was fully with the expectation never to wake up again, but then he did, and sunlight was turning the Archivist's brown eyes to gold, and he had survived.</p><p> </p><p>And that was when everything went wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it was better that way. The one night was more than anything Michael could have ever possibly deserved - or survived. If Jon (was that his name?) smiled softly at him one more time, that would be the end of him, and so he told himself he preferred the cold dismissal. And then he walked on.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Eyepocalypse...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Time jump!! Jon has unwittingly caused the apocalypse and fainted and Michael is there to wake him up</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Archivist."</p><p> </p><p>Eyes. Jon's eyes were closed. He was on the floor. And all he could see were eyes. They were looking at him and he was looking at everything through them, he was watching the world as it screamed in despair under the ceaseless gaze of the-</p><p> </p><p>"Archivist!"</p><p> </p><p>Jon jolted awake, and realized two bad things in quick succession. One, he was in The Distortion's lap. And two, the broken window opened onto the sky above them. A sky that was looking back.</p><p> </p><p>Jon sobbed into the arms of yet another monster that wanted to manipulate and kill him. He felt its fingers digging into his back as it rocked him, and he leaned into the pain. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had gone wrong. What was another log for the pyre?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Death Wish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Attempted murder is a great bonding exercise you should try it sometime</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey heads up this chapter is really heavy on the angst</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael had watched the Archivist dispose of the Not Them, and it had filled him with an aching sense of longing. Because the Archivist had looked at the Stranger's entity. Really Looked. Michael wanted to be seen like that, even if it meant harm. Especially if it meant harm.</p><p> </p><p>So he spent his days silently aiding the Archivist when he needed it, pulling him out of his thoughts and providing comfort when needed, all the while longing for two things: one he knew he could never have, and another that was becoming a closer possibility with every time Jon snapped at him.</p><p> </p><p>Jon was, unknowingly, thinking along the same lines as the monster he did not want to care about. He only saw one solution to this, only one way to put an end to the Spiral's deception and lying. Because he knew that it was all lies now. Knew that when the creature offered to carry his bag for him or let him cry into its hair, it was only hating him and biding its time until it could strike.</p><p> </p><p>The decision finally caught up to him when Michael asked him to look into its head.</p><p> </p><p>"I want you to know, Archivist. Please. Look and find the answers you want. There are things I want to tell you but you wouldn't believe me until you see for yourself. You were right, I did have a selfish goal for coming to you that night. But Jon-"</p><p> </p><p>It was then that Jon had snapped. He did not care about what the creature had to say to him, he knew all of it would be more lies. This was how it had to go, this was the only way to stop it, and he could no longer delay it just so he could allow himself to enjoy its company while it destroyed him.</p><p> </p><p>"Ceaseless Watcher," he began, and saw Michael's eyes widen. It made no move to stop him, only looked at him with relief written all over its face, and Jon hated himself for wanting to stop. Calling the Eye's power, he brought it down onto Michael, sad, resigned Michael who was on its knees now, and then he Saw.</p><p> </p><p>All of it rushed over him in a wave of every emotion possible. He saw Michael's betrayal, saw his loneliness, saw himself through the creature's eyes. Heard his own voice filtered through awe and longing. And then he saw Helen, saw her game and what Michael had intended to do about it, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him to stop the incantation. The Eye clawed and screamed at him, urging him to finish what he started, but he dropped to the ground and screamed until it stopped.</p><p> </p><p>And then Michael was in front of him, no longer with any semblance of humanity, glitching and convulsing into mad shapes that made his head hurt.</p><p> </p><p>"Why did you stop?" it demanded, it's voice somewhere between a frail whisper and a scream of pain, and Jon rushed over to it and tried the only thing he could think of.</p><p> </p><p>As he started speaking again, he could feel Michael stop struggling and give in, and he really hoped it was because Michael realised what he was trying to do, and not because it had resigned itself to death. Because that was not happening. He wouldn't let it. </p><p> </p><p>The Archivist's voice washed over Michael as he curled up against him. God, even while chanting his death sentence, it sounded beautiful. He marvelled briefly at the kindness he was being shown. The Archivist's arms were around him and he felt comfort and love, and this was better than anything he could have hoped for.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Michael woke up, he was taken aback that he was still alive. Worse was the fact that Jon was gently snoozing in a chair next to his bed, one of his hands curled around Michael's.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael would have imagined he had died and gone to heaven if he didn't know better than to think he deserved that. He tried to sit up, and the movement jolted the Archivist awake. Then Jon was crying and letting out a stream of incoherent apologies. Confused as he was, Michael still held Jon and let the panic subside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was days before Michael finally gathered up the nerve to talk to the Archivist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was slumped at the base of a tree, eyes unfocused, probably Seeing the horrors going on around them. But he looked at Michael when he put a hand on Jon's shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Jon," said Michael, testing out the name. It sounded pleasant on his lips. "I need you to tell me what's wrong."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At once he could feel the guilt and shame rolling off Jon in waves. "I'm sorry," Jon breathed painfully.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What for?" said Michael.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"For doubting you. For- for trying to <i>kill</i> you. I know a 'sorry' isn't going to make it all go away, but I want to try to be better. If you will have me."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Michael could not bring himself to realise the full extent of what Jon was saying, so he just asked a question instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why were you so sure I meant you harm? I don't blame you, I am the Master Of Lies after all, but surely I made it clear that I would never hurt <i>you</i>, archivist."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon sighed. "I know. I've been stupid. I've let my paranoia fool me. But that will never happen again. I promise."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But why were you paranoid? Is it so bad to be loved by a monster?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You tell me."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon looked up at the countless eyes in the sky peeking through the gaps in the canopy above them. "You're not the only monster in this equation. So tell me, how does it feel to be loved by one?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked at Michael then, and the full force of what Jon was saying hit him. He wanted to refuse to believe it, but hadn't that already been their downfall? So he willed himself to speak instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's the most beautiful feeling in the world," he said, taking Jon's hand, trying to let him know he meant it. "It's like you've been dying of thirst for centuries and then you find a river, and at first you think you're going to drown but it just brings you back to life instead."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon smiled at him. "Then you have your answer."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then, despite his better judgement, Michael believed him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And then they stopped the eyepocalypse because I said so.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Soft epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me, jumping from tooth-rotting fluff to the worst angst you've ever read back to fluff again: parkour</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael was watching Jon cook with a hungry look in his eyes that had nothing to do with the food. Basira, Daisy, Melanie and Georgie were in the living room, arguing about something silly. That was something they could afford now, to squabble and get on each other's nerves knowing that they'd have time to sort it out. </p><p> </p><p>Jon nearly burnt himself when Michael decided flipping an omelette was the right time to throw your arms around someone. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey! You'll ruin the food," said Jon half-heartedly. </p><p> </p><p>Michael planted a kiss on his cheek. "I love you very much." </p><p> </p><p>It had been months and yet every time Michael said that Jon short-circuited. He managed to say it back, though, and Michael laughed that spiralling laugh of his and bounded off to annoy their friends. </p><p> </p><p>This was what life was now, laughing with a group of friends who all praised his cooking, holding Michael's hand under the table, and feeling like everything he had went through had all been worth it. </p><p> </p><p>Later that night, he was breathing in the familiar scent of Michael as he draped extra blankets over them, and for the first time, but definitely not the last, both of them were looking forward to waking up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That concludes this fic. If you're wondering where Martin is this whole time, he isn't here because I can't put him in the vicinity of an alternate jon pairing. It physically pains me &lt;3 thank you for reading the whole thing. If you leave a comment I'll be indebted to you forever</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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